While You're Away (23 page)

Because when he kissed me, I woke up. Our rhythms blended together again; I looked in his eyes and I realized everything would be okay. This is what I wanted, and I had it on
my
terms. I knew now that I was strong enough to walk away if I had to. That I could stand up for myself and expect more. Better. I really was here in his arms because I wanted to be. Not because I needed to be, or was afraid to be somewhere else. I had the strength to trust him—and myself—enough to give it a chance to be exactly right.

Swaying to music that was ours alone, we moved through the shadowy room together. Will marked me, his kisses hot brands down my throat, his hands tattooing possessive strokes along the length of my back.

Raising my hands to unbutton his shirt, my fingers trembled. I bared his skin, wracked with hunger and with need. The fabric smoothed over his shoulders, reminding me how beautiful he was. Carved and sculpted, so finely made it took my breath away. But not so much that I couldn’t whisper to him, “If we fight . . .”

“I promise we’ll always make up,” he replied.

Then he took me back to his room and proved it.

I
woke up next to Will again, and it was a new day. Not just because night was over and the sun was rising across the campus. Things felt different; they felt better. I sat at the window, finger-combing my tangled hair and watching St. P-Windsor come alive.

Some students had weekend classes. I could make them out by their jackets and backpacks. They hurried as they walked, straight lines like ants along the pavement. Others were making their way home after all-nighters. Their clothes were wrinkled. They shivered in the cool morning light and buzzed aimlessly in this direction or that.

This was Will’s world now. When he woke up, the sun didn’t come through his window—that’s what he saw when it set. Brick and ivy and cobblestone in places, a street full of sprawling mansions that pretended, on the outside at least, to be Greek temples. On the inside, they were worn, the furniture was well used, and none of the dishes matched.

“I’ll fix you some breakfast,” Will said.

He emerged from the bathroom freshly shaved, his hair askew. It looked like he’d tried to wet it, smooth it. All that had done was send certain defiant strands of it sticking straight up. Comfortable in thinning sweatpants and his St. P-Windsor pullover, he tugged me into his arms for a kiss.

Lingering on my lips, his hands roamed my back, perhaps memorizing my shape again. I did the same, because I wanted to soak him up. When I drove home, I wanted to smell him on my clothes. I wanted to remember every inch of him, the way he looked in the morning: sleepy, handsome, mine.

“C’mon,” he said again, nudging me toward the door. “We’ll see who’s awake. I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

And he did. We found the frat’s president, Nate Beresford, and Hailey-the-girl-with-the-guitar already in the kitchen. When Will and I came in, Hailey flung herself off Nate’s lap and right at me.

Her voice was smoky, kind of coffeehouse sexy. So when she exclaimed that she was so glad to finally meet me, I was both flattered and a little turned on. She smelled like apple shampoo, and her eyes were a shocking green up close. When she let go of me, she punched Will in the arm, hard.

“I heard what you did, dumbass,” she said. “Stop being a dumbass.”

With that, she murdered my jealousy. They had anti-chemistry, a brother and sister vibe that practically poured off them. Then she rolled those green eyes at him and went back to sitting in Nate’s lap.

Embarrassed, Will slipped an arm around my waist. “Nate, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

“I figured.” He smirked over Hailey’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna show her around,” Will said, leading me away. The house was still littered from the party. The pervasive scent of beer and sweat permeated the walls. In the hallway, Will stopped to introduce me to the guy who had played bouncer the night before.

Waving a finger at me slowly, he said, “Hey, you were looking for Will, right?”

“I was,” I said, trying not to smile. Apparently he hadn’t been drunk last night. That’s just the way he talked.

With a nod, he shook my hand. “Hope you found him, man.”

Will and I escaped to the next room before we started to laugh.

Hand-in-hand, Will and I walked the campus. Though I’d taken so many virtual tours with him, it was different in person. The trees were taller; all the colors were richer.

In the distance was a bell tower I’d never seen before. At the turn of the hour, it played a rising scale. Then, suddenly, it lapsed into a few bars from the Harry Potter theme. Bursting into laughter, I looked at Will in surprise. “Does it do that every time?”

Grinning himself, Will shook his head. “Not every time. Sometimes it’s just chimes or hymns. Last week, they played “The Imperial March” from Star Wars, though.”

My heart soared. Until that moment, Will had been away at some imaginary place. A world completely separate from me. Now we’d shared one small thing that could have only happened in person, and it all became real. More certain now than ever, I squeezed Will’s hand and pulled him down for a kiss.

“We’re going to do better,” I murmured to him, dizzy as he pulled away slowly.

He promised, “A lot better.”

Falling into step with him again, I leaned my head against his shoulder as we started across the campus green. The gothic buildings that framed the quad glowed pinkish in the light. Their edges looked regal instead of threatening.

Soaring above the spires, a clean, blue sky stretched out in every direction. It was endless and perfect, and so full of possibility.

“I was thinking,” Will said, glancing at me. “Maybe I could come home next weekend. It’s not that far. I could make it at least once a month. If you want me to.”

Because we’d made a vow to communicate better, I didn’t pretend it wasn’t necessary. I wouldn’t fall back into old habits; I needed to see him more, and I wasn’t going to pretend I didn’t. Instead, I wrapped my arm around his and beamed up at him. “That would be amazing. I’m going to try to line up some solo shows. Let me know when you’re going to be in town, so I can schedule around that.”

Incredulous, Will drew his head back. “Are you nuts?”

“Um . . .” Confused, I smiled crookedly. “I guess?”

With a snort, Will tugged me into motion again. “Don’t schedule around me. Maybe I want to see my hot-ass girlfriend owning the clubs. Did you ever think of that?”

“I hadn’t.”

“Well, you should.” He arched a brow at me.

A blush stole to my cheeks. That floating-away infatuation came back, but this time, I didn’t drift so high. Reality kept me closer to the ground, and reality would get us through our time apart. It was good to be with Will again, and
really
with him. We were together, and it was going to take some work. But it was worth it, every time he flashed that wicked smile my way.

“You know what the best part of that will be, Will?”

“What’s that?”

“Going home afterward with my favorite groupie,” I told him.

Then I jumped into his arms and sealed that joke with a kiss.

THE END

T
he Debut Stage at Furnace Hollow Music Festival belonged to me. I had a
MUSICIAN
pass dangling from my lanyard, an electric guitar in my hands, and the whole crowd surging at my feet. Lightning bugs flickered in the humid, hazy night—sparks like the cell phones that people held up to record the show.

Overhead lights pulsed with color, streaking upturned faces in the audience with confection colors. In the summer twilight, I ripped a strip off a brand-new set of songs. The speakers blared, the bass drummed in my bones.

I’d learned a lot of things in a year and a half. The first was that leather looks great but it smells like death when you sweat in it. The second was that people will hype right up for a song they’ve never heard, as long as they hear a song they love first. And the third was that Will Spencer was a total junkie for live music festivals.

Even in the audience, he was unmistakable. Neck looped with a VIP pass, he was a laser-bright oasis in a seat of agitated energy. Lifting his chin to say hello, he swayed with the back beat. I felt the same beat in my hips, but thankfully when you’re on stage, no one can see you blush.

Hailey bounced next to him, her cup in the air and Will’s black straw hat on her head. I hated that thing, so if she accidentally took it home, my heart wasn’t going to be broken.

OTPs took up a whole row, frat brothers and their girlfriends, flavored with all of my peeps. Jane and Simon and my sisters all came. Mom and Dad, too. They wore earplugs and stayed in the safe side of the crowd but were no less excited. They waved like it was my first day at camp when I looked toward them.

There was nothing like stage energy. It made me feel sexy and crazy and wild. I stood a thousand feet high—people sang because of me. They danced for me. They were there to hear
me.

My throat raw and my voice raspy, I gave everything back. Every single bit of it, in every single note, in sweat and song and a thunderous crash of music to signal the end of the night. By the time I sang my last note, my ears rang. A deafening white noise enveloped me, the sweet, strange reward for rocking it out and rocking it hard.

The crowd was still roaring when I ducked backstage. Since this was one of the smaller stages, a series of connected tents gave us a little privacy and someplace to come down off the performance.

Blessedly, they had iced bottles of water waiting, right next to industrial fans. Planting myself in front of one, I slung my guitar over my shoulder and pulled out my phone. Will had texted me about the crowd before I went on. I loved getting his impressions of a show from the outside.

When my phone came on, it blew up with texts. From Jane and Will, and a couple of new musician friends who’d just come off their respective stages. All interesting, but there was one mixed in that made me shiver.

The avatar was a generic CW pretty boy picture, snagged from the web. The name next to it was simply HIM. Dismissing all the other texts, I dragged his to the front. It read:

Got a little time for me tonight?

Almost guiltily, I threw a look over my shoulder. It was ridiculous, of course. There was no one backstage but musicians and roadies. Some volunteers, the usual. As far as they were concerned, I was just another girl with a guitar. They’d have to look at my lanyard closely to identify me; it wasn’t like they could read my mind—or my phone’s screen.

I texted back.
Sorry I was on stage, just got this.

Though his reply was almost instant, it seemed to take forever. I had to move, to escape the sensation that everyone was looking at me. That they could see the heat spreading under my clothes that had nothing to do with performing.

Question stands
, he said.

I don’t think I have time
, I texted.

Make some.

Trying to escape the backstage maze, I darted through the chaos, barely looking up. As I backed through the flaps into the outside world, my thumbs flew.
My boyfriend’s here.

I hit send and burst into the humid night. Turning beneath the glow of floodlights, I took a deep, savoring breath. Good scents rushed up to meet me, funnel cakes, frying sausages—patchouli and sweat, even the sweet smoke from a bonfire down in the camping section.

Suddenly, everything went dark. Warm hands darted out from behind me and covered my eyes.

Another scent washed over me, familiar and warm. This one turned me liquid and hungry; it matched a beat that was more primal than the one emanating from the stage.

Dragging my lower lip through my teeth, I clutched my phone to my chest. I didn’t need to see it. He was about to reply to me personally. Cheek grazing my hair, his voice stroked my skin expertly. It slipped into me, taunting me with things I couldn’t have—at least, not yet.

“I don’t care about your boyfriend,” Will Spencer said, his murmur low and teasing.

“You should,” I said. Even though I was still playing along, I couldn’t hold back a smile. “He’s here with all his frat buddies.”

With a wink, he said, “I think I can take him.”

Then without warning, Will dipped me and stole a kiss. Slipping past my lips with a curling, velvety tease, he marked me with a promise. His mouth could do miraculous things. I just had to get him alone to enjoy it.

~

We did not pass go. We did not collect cheap beer down in Music Village. We went directly to our hotel room. As soon as we closed the door, Will pushed me against it.

I didn’t care about the noise we made. Or about the contents of my purse when I tossed it into the wherever. All I cared about was Will’s tongue in my mouth and his hands on my skin. We were good about calling and Skyping, writing and calling, but it wasn’t the same.

“Too many clothes,” I told him, tearing at his t-shirt. It stretched as I dragged it up his chest. The dark trail of his hair pulled my gaze down. Across rippled abs and deep-cut David-esque lines, down into the jeans that hung casually from his hips. Like any present, I couldn’t open him fast enough.

He rasped a rough kiss against my throat, his fingers working my jeans open. “I miss your skirts.”

“It’s good to work for something you want,” I teased. Thumping my head back against the door, I yanked his shirt over his head, then lunged for another kiss. To punish me for teasing him, he darted away, sinking to his knees. He thought he was going to get away with something down there. I let him think it, dragging my fingers through his hair and watching him conquer my skin-tight jeans.

When he went to kiss my knee, I tightened my hand in his hair and tugged him back up. Not hard, just enough to get him moving in the right direction: toward my mouth. The scent of his skin swirled around me, sweetened with cologne, darkened with sweat. Shaking my head, I told him, “Fast now. Slow later.”

Even though he widened his eyes, as if to chastise me, I just laughed. We had all night to explore and play. In a little while, we could stretch out and count each other’s freckles. Maybe spend some time basking and cuddling, and whispering stupidly adorable things against each other’s lips. We’d get back to basics; we’d fall asleep together. Wake up entangled, fall in mad, crazy love again at first light.

But right now? I just wanted him—on me. Inside me, and all over me, until I couldn’t tell my end and his beginning.

“You’re a monster,” he said, and picked me up.

Arms around his neck, I asked, “Whose fault is that?”

In response, he spun us around. I laughed, startled. The sudden motion made me dizzy, and his bare skin against mine only enhanced that. I drugged myself on his kisses, laughed against his mouth as he carried me across the room. That he could pick me up and carry me anywhere made my skin hum. To be fair though, everything about him made my skin hum. His kisses, his teases—the way he dropped me on the bed, just to dive after me.

His expert hands twisted in the thin fabric of my panties. Any other time, he should have taken some time to appreciate the fact that I’d gone out of my way to floss my butt with decorative underwear. This time though, he got a pass. Anything to get him onto the bed with me and in my arms where he belonged. With a quick twist, they were gone. Thrown to parts unknown, probably to stay there forever. I sent silent apologies to future occupants of Room 234.

Because Will refused to be entirely tamed, he licked a stripe up my belly. His mouth was fire. Skimming along my ribs, then up the curve of one breast, he followed taste with touch. As he moved over me, I forgot to hurry, just for a minute. Instead, I let sensations roll through me. Hot. Hungry. Eager.

One smooth hand skimmed my belly, then cupped my breast. Thrumming inside and out, I almost let him get away with the slowdown. But then he made a foolish mistake. Edging his teeth against one nipple, Will dared to smirk at me. Deliberately thwarting me, because Will was just evil like that.

So I fought back.

He wore his jeans just loose enough that I could streak a hand down the front of them. Springing up to greet my touch, his erection fit perfectly against my palm. Stroking it through his boxer-briefs, I traced its length shamelessly. Unlike my orderly body, his was happy to leap up and beg.

“I don’t think so,” Will said, sliding up to nip at my throat.

He faltered when I dipped down again, wrapping my fingers around him. He was thick and hard; I knew his shape intimately. I knew what Will liked, too. A stroke, a little bit of a twist. His eyes rolled back as he groaned, thrown completely off his game.

Victorious, I tangled one of my legs around his, trapping him against me. It was my turn to look right into his eyes, to watch his face as I reminded him just how much he’d taught me. And maybe how much I’d figured out on my own.

In places, my fingers were rough from playing the guitar. In others, they remained satiny smooth. Alternating between them, I savored the way his breath turned shallow. When we first met, I was the most uneasy goddess at the party. Now I felt like I ruled him comfortably.

Those sounds he was making, they were for me. Because of me. Of course he knew how to drive me crazy. But now I knew how to return the favor.

“I warned you,” I said. Then I shut myself up with a gasp, because I forgot one important thing: Will Spencer played to win.

He stroked a thick finger into me, his thumb washing over my clitoris at the same time. I still felt like a goddess. Only now, it was one that melted into pooled, glowing gold. New gravity pulled me down. It centered all the nerves in my body into that one spot, curling my toes, racing my heart. My hips rose to his touch because I needed more. I wanted to be full of him, plowed into the sheets and buried deep.

At the same time, I still wanted to best him. So instead of a race, we had a game of dirty, dirty chicken. Pressing into him, I stroked him faster, shifting my grip until I felt his pulse in my palm. Friction and heat put rhythm into his hips.

In response, he stroked another finger inside me, answering my pace with the same. He pressed his brow against mine, and our eyes locked. We traded crooked smiles and grimaces. When he forgot to move, I raced forward. Drawing low moans from him felt like success. It roared in my blood, and then just as fast, he’d make me forget everything but his touch. Skin pink, fresh with sweat, the humidity rose between us.

The whole room warmed, scented with sex and laughter—and frustration. When I’d said fast now, slow later, I didn’t actually want to finish with just our hands. When we came, I wanted everything: his weight on me, his lips on mine. I wanted to be drunkenly in love and wildly out of control—everything fast and hard, yes, but
together.

I missed him. All of him.

“You win,” he murmured, and captured me with a long, deep kiss. When he surrendered, I almost cried. That connection, the one that had pulled us together in the first place? It was still there. So strong, alive and electric. He pulled his hand away, clutching my wrist to stop me mid-stroke. Suddenly, everything was still urgent but fluid too.

Winding around him, I held on tight as he slid us up the bed. Covering me completely, Will pressed kisses along my throat, lingering where my pulse raced. Gracelessly, we wrestled him out of his jeans. They caught on his heel and we both had to wrench around to finally strip them off. But once we did, it was so worth it.

Skin-to-skin, we fit together perfectly. My curves softened his angles, and when I chased his kiss, he let me catch it at exactly the right moment, Fingers winding into his hair, I looked into the cool, clear blue of his eyes and smiled.

“I missed you,” he said.

With a brash shrug, I raised my head to steal another kiss. “I know you did.”

“Fast now, slow later?”

“Let’s do what we always do,” I told him, even as I reshaped myself beneath his weight. “Just go for it and see what happens.”

And why not? From our very first kiss, we hadn’t done things the easy way. Or the simple way. Sometimes, not even in the best way. But all that struggle had led somewhere wonderful.